Shadows on the Walls
by Ryo Hoshi
Summary: Dark AU. As various plots finally collide, will the puppet show continue? Or will the puppets cut their strings? ※ Section 9: Soul, with the aid of some bottles of whiskey, has a bit of a heart-to-heart with Maka. ※
1. Section 1 The Game

Just for those who forgot to read the summary's warnings: this is going to end up dark. It's also based more on the manga than the anime, and it has a life of its own. That means it's not intended to reflect my opinions on anything, because the story is quite determined to have its way despite me, alright?

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**  
_**By Ryo Hoshi**_

_§1 The Game_

He knows, now, that he doesn't sleep. His old friend/enemy/ally had learned the truth, paid the price, and now...

_The world must be ordered._ It did not matter that he did not wish it, that he wished to be free of the job.

_The world must be preserved._ It did not matter that he had learned the truth of it, and the wish to be free resided deep inside him.

There was a hope, though. If it was played right, maybe, just maybe...

Maybe a true way out would open up, before...

* * *

Next section will be up in a few days, and yes, they get longer. Please review, it'll remind me to keep posting.


	2. Section 2 Deus ex Machina

I'm a bit disappointed with how few people reviewed the last section, so I am hoping for a bit better feedback-to-hits ratio than the current 20-hits-per-review with this...

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**

_**By Ryo Hoshi**_

_§2 Deus ex Machina_

Kid went through life, doing his best to make the world around him neat and simple, nicely symmetrical. He saw the world, traveling with his weapons and doing his father's bidding as best he could. He wanted to be the best death god he could be, and make the world an orderly place.

At night he dreamed, nightmares of steel and silicon and coppery salt-water on his tongue.

Of bits and pieces of his body cut away, of wires and tubes invading him, of floating in a quiet, lit tube of liquid with shadows on the walls.

Sometimes, when he was awake, he almost could feel those nightmare-feelings. The ghost of a tube going between his lips and down his throat, or something cold flowing into his veins, that were ever-present in those nightmares.

But they were only shreds of nightmares, and not real.

* * *

Once again, please review! I find it very encouraging to know that people are reading and getting **some** pleasure out of my efforts, as opposed to just taking a glance before fleeing in horror.


	3. Section 3 And the Truth Shall

...Well, here goes nothing. And Asura is weird to write.

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**  
_**By Ryo Hoshi**_

_§3 And the Truth Shall..._

He had not meant to.

He went about his task, a mix of courage and cowardice driving him on, determined to become powerful enough to finally, _finally_ relax and bask in the certainty of not having to fear the dark and the evil and the bad.

One day, Asura, the Shinigami's closest ally and friend, learned the Truth of the world. What was it, now?

_...The final truth is – there is no truth..._

No, that wasn't it. That would be kinder, gentler.

He knew he'd been able to remember it long enough to tell his friend-ally-enemy-but-_why?_ what it was. He knew it had been horrible terrible awesome, awful, _unspeakable_...

What had it been?

The world needed to know, didn't it?

The world needed to be set free, didn't it?

It would be worth any price, wouldn't it?

So _why_ did the death god seal him away?

_You shall know the truth, and the truth shall..._

* * *

Please review, less than five percent of you have and it really makes me wonder how I'm doing...

**Next time:** We ship introspective!Soul/Alcohol & the word count better than doubles.


	4. Section 4 We can Swing Together

Okay, quick notes: this is about the length sections seem to want to be from this point to where I'm working (yes, I'm working ahead of posting), the pronoun for Crona is not a typo but an intentional use of a common convention for persons of unknown or indefinite gender (its are things), and oh, yes, the cargo ship of Soul/alcohol happens here. Um. Not that I personally support it. It just is happening.

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**  
_**By Ryo Hoshi**_

_§4 We can Swing Together_

Soul looked around the hotel suite, checking for what was supposed to be there and what was _not_ supposed to be there, before settling down to drink and cool off from the night's concert. He didn't like groupies, especially the ones who kept trying to sneak themselves into his rooms, certain that he'd welcome them once they got that far; they were so annoying, and who _knew_ where those girls had been?

As a certain fictional sage had observed, self-pleasure was so much neater and cleaner than doing a loose woman, and required so much less effort.

But it _was_ much lonelier.

On a night like this, in yet another strange hotel suite – despite what fiction claimed, he found they failed completely to blend together, depriving him of the comforting familiarity that he could have gotten from _that_ – he envied their band's drummer all the more. Black Star always, always had Tsubaki with him; she'd been there since the first performance, and somehow migrated into the position of their manager. Soul knew their fans and the rumor-mills were busy arguing over if the couple had married yet, or were going to get married...

...well, except for the people who thought Tsubaki was just Black Star's beard & he was having hawt gay sex with the albino guitarist.

There was even pornographic fanfiction about them.

Tsubaki read one example to the pair aloud.

Soul doubted he'd ever manage to find enough brain bleach to wipe the images from his mind. At least it proved that if there were any naked or even shirtless pictures of him out there, the person responsible for that..._thing_ had not seen any of them.

He felt uncomfortable showing off the mysterious scar on his chest.

Of the band, he'd only let the more ambiguous of the band's ambiguously gay duo see it. Crona could keep a secret very well; the ambiguity of his – her? – gender itself was evidence enough. Crona actually was the sole reason that the pair were ambiguously gay in the first place: Ragnarök had as many secrets of his own as a man with a love for tight leather pants was capable of having. The only remaining question was what gender Crona _was_, and the vocalist's amazing range was no help whatsoever.

The pair were worth the gender confusion of Crona: if se couldn't sing it, Ragnarök _could_, and Soul knew that the pair's skills were the main reason they'd gotten the break that won them their current fame.

Well, that and their outright refusal to let Crona write lyrics.

They might be famous for their unexpectedly-popular blend of goth and punk sensibilities, but nobody wanted to hear so _graphically_ how bad life in the orphanages could get with the clarity Crona's poetry had.

Soul knew he was lucky. He had been a late-comer to the orphanage, the survivor of a car wreck that had taken his parents' lives while his brother was not _quite_ old enough to be granted custody – and then they simply 'forgot' that it had been supposed to be a temporary arrangement until Wes could take him back...

The others in the band had been there as long as they could remember.

The dreams he had of blood-smoke-roasting-meat-his-mother's-face were not quite so bad, compared to the nightmares he knew the others had. Those made a certain amount of sense, in their own strange way.

Crona dreamed of a pair of people se insisted were hir parents, but nobody could possibly look like the pair se described in hir poems...

Black Star dreamed of a Jamaican couple; always the same pair, who loved him like he was their own. They would touch the glass, talk to him, tell him how much they wished they could take him home.

All Ragnarök would say to the rest of them was that he dreamed of something like what Crona and Black Star described, which at least made the bassist more talkative on the subject than Liz.

Their keyboardist flat-out refused to talk about it. Stranger still, her younger sister – whose role in the band was the eternally ill-defined 'whatever we need right now' – only once said anything about it, and only after being gotten completely drunk.

What Patti said then killed the others' curiosity about the sisters' own dreams.

But...there were worse things going on around them. Nobody really cared too much what happened to those children consigned to the orphanages; every so often there might be a bit of publicity as some enterprising reporter or social reformer did a 'daring expose' about conditions, but...

Somehow the media always managed to only find orphanages which were so much better than the one they had been sent to. The problems they found were not the worst – maybe they caught laxness of the sanitation or an indifference to the education of the charges, always done in-house in the larger orphanages, but...

No news about the missing time, the mysterious injuries, the orphans sent without warning during the night to 'some other orphanage.' The last got to be so common at the orphanage they were at that they started to joke about how the missing ones had all been sent to 'St Elsewhere's Orphanage.'

The officials just went through the motions, doing the absolute minimum they could get away with, and generally left their charges to fend for themselves while they pocketed as much money as they could get away with...

Soul took a sip only to discover that his glass was already empty.

Maybe, he decided, he ought to head to the hotel's bar. A glance at the clock to check that it was late enough that the bar would be clear of most of the types who'd have trouble accepting he wanted to just drink by himself, he left.

* * *

Next section: Maka's life sucks. That is all.

I have to say right now that I am starting to understand _too_ well why some fanfic writers hold installments hostage to reviews. The only reason I know _anybody_ is reading this is the stats page. This is really quite depressing: reviews are very good motivation for me to keep posting. I'm not going to name a specific number, since I do object to that; just flat-out saying that while writing may be its own reward, posting it without getting any sign that it is being enjoyed is most definitely not, especially when I might better use copious spare time for other things. Therefore, I'll make it easy: if there's no reviews by the end of 4th of July, this goes on hiatus indefinitely because I do have a life outside of this.


	5. Section 5 Dance Your Life Away

Well, here we are again -- really glad people remembered to review the last chapter, and if I keep getting that sort of response I'll do my best to get sections up a bit faster. Anyway: this time up, it's Maka's turn!

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**  
_**By Ryo Hoshi**_

_§5 Dance Your Life Away_

Maka headed into the bar, glancing around in a casual manner to see how many of her regulars were there. Working the bars wasn't fun, or the best, but she didn't have the connections to get the better-paying clients and it was better than working the stations or the streets. Besides, she figured that maybe, if she could just stick to some regulars whom she knew would use protection, and if she was careful with her spending...

No such luck tonight, though. Again.

She'd been counting on _one_ of them turning up, she'd been careful and they were rather reliable when they _were_ to be found in the bars... She couldn't afford to not earn anything tonight; there was nothing left for her to trim from her budget.

The blond made a show of looking over the bar's shelves, like she was deciding what she was in the mood for if she was in the mood for anything at all, instead of trying to decide if she wanted to just give up on the night (might as well go enjoy having a lousy bed for the little while longer she had before the landlord realized she couldn't make rent this week) or try to get a new customer...

Then it sunk in: somebody was playing the piano.

The bar's owner had live music regularly – though it was a Thursday and that was a quiet night where the only music playing was something soft from the speakers in the ceiling – and the piano stayed on the stage along the back. It was simply too heavy to be worth moving on the few nights of the week when there was nobody up there at all, and in _theory_ there was no objection to any paying customer feeling an inclination to play from going up there when nobody was playing...

This was the first time Maka knew of anybody actually _testing_ that theory.

The white-haired man – a bit older than herself, possibly even old enough to be drinking in here without aid of a false ID – seemed absorbed in whatever he was playing, fingers moving with skill over the keys. His eyes were closed, whatever tune he was playing being played from memory or perhaps made up as he went. She'd never heard anything like it before.

For the first time, she actually felt _interested_ in a man, and not in his money.

Maka settled near the steps down from the stage to listen, hoping to catch him when he finished. Maybe she'd tell him what she did for a living – maybe how she ended up there, the misbegotten result of her insane mother having run into some male who (to her) looked enough like the man in her fantasies that she spread her legs for him...

The man who'd bought her from the orphanage had delighted in telling her stories – maybe fictional, maybe not – of worse things she could have ended up than belonging to him.

She wasn't sure if she believed those stories, though. He'd lied to her so much before she'd simply slipped off one night. Maka had avoided any ugly plaid hats – and their owners – that she'd seen since then.

There wasn't much she could do to earn money, though. With the token education she'd gotten at the orphanage, and having no legal papers since she'd been sold out the back door...

Or maybe she'd not tell him anything about that. She wanted to get to know him better, and...she wanted better luck with men than her mother had. After all, whomever had sired her on her mother almost certainly hadn't even cared if he'd left her mother pregnant or not.

How many men would care to have her for more than just...recreation after they learned about what she had done for a living ever since she ran away from her 'owner'?

She wanted...not to have him forever, she wasn't going to ask for that much. She just wanted more of a relationship than what she had with her clients or would get in a one-night stand...

...and, of course, more than her mother had with whomever sired her. _Not_ the figment-of-her-own-imagination her mother insisted was her father, but the man whose sperm had contributed half her genes.

Maka wasn't about to think of asking for _children_; she knew, with her legal status (not even a police record, so far) and income (almost barely enough if careful) that she'd have to give any baby she bore to the orphanages, and...

That would be as bad as drowning the baby.

Maka was quite sure that Lilie was perfectly normal for an orphanage: a few nicely-done rooms, well-maintained Potemkin rooms to make the visitors and less-involved officials feel better, and the rest... From what she knew from television, whomever designed the orphanage must have started out in the prison-design business. They had small rooms sleeping a few, with a toilet in case they needed to relieve themselves after lights-out, and...everything else was communal, and the staff wasn't always that good at (or that interested in) keeping the genders apart.

Infants and toddlers – the ones whom people regularly came to look at and think about adopting – were the only ones who got to _live_ in the show part. Everybody else just got enough care to keep too many questions from being asked.

_Still..._ Maka wished she was naive enough, or lucky enough, as the man finished the piece he was playing. He looked like he had money, enough that he could easily afford it, and...Maka would be fine with simply knowing her child was doing well...

She waved a little to the white-haired man, silently asking him if he'd like to join her. He hesitated, before ordering a drink at the bar and sitting across from her.

* * *

Yeah, I don't know what's up with how Maka's life has turned out here. I blame my muse, okay? I _do_ want to hear some feedback on how my readers feel about this, since it's rather...different, and remember, reviews will encourage me to post and maybe even post more often! Lack of reviews to go with the hits _will_ make me shift focus more onto other things. (Mere hits do _not_ really tell me anything useful.)

**Next time up:** Kim hates her job but does like Ox! Because we need more Ox/Kim!


	6. Section 6 Let It Bleed

I realize I should be honest: if you leave a signed review, I _will_ do my best to reply. I've always found I liked it when my reviews got a reply, even if might be an admission that I missed the point of the story.

If any of you are wondering what this story's plot is: visit TVTropes(dot)org and look up Thirty Xanatos Pileup. That's about the only thing I can say without spoiling this; if I could add an additional genre, it'd be 'mystery.'

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls**  
**By Ryo Hoshi**

_§6 __Let It Bleed_

Kim was bored. Work was the same each and every day: Psyche gave her a clipboard with the day's files, giving details on what tubes to do more than the daily routine checks on.

Without the euphemisms? Which of the people were due for in-depth checkups instead of the daily monitoring of their life-support units, which men were supposed to have sperm taken and which women were supposed to be inseminated with the harvested sperm – sometimes some of the samples had to be sent over to a different unit, or were sent from one, and it was always a problem if somebody didn't get _those_ labels right...

So far, Kim hadn't been detailed to having to handle a birth, only with assisting with shifting pregnant women's tubes in preparation. She'd heard rumors from the older witches in the department that Psyche had a child of her own plugged in, but... Kim didn't think the section chief would act like it was not the best thing to do for the infants, if she'd done it to her own.

Though...given that all of the rumors insisted that Psyche's child was in a different section, elsewhere in the complex...

Kim knew that only the most committed of those whose offspring was placed in the Lotos were allowed to work the same section as their child. It was basic security; taking somebody out abruptly was supposed to be a horrible thing. She hadn't seen it happen herself – it was so rarely done, only in the most urgent of emergencies, and the descriptions of what the effects were from her classes...! She didn't _want_ to see it, ever.

Even getting to hold her own child wouldn't be sufficient temptation.

She sighed. The routine was...not what she had really wanted, but they'd picked her to be one of the 'witches' who maintained the software – literal and figurative – back while she was still in the crèche. She thought being a technician, and getting to work with the hardware like Ox did, might really be much more fun...

Ox had even taught her some, in return for being slipped a stick of Kim's Book of Shadows. She'd not been bothered much by how little she'd been able to gain; a witch's Book of Shadows was easily copied, just hook up one of the sticks to the little black handheld that was perhaps the primary symbol of a witch and tell it to back itself up. Her Book was not even very well organized; the files were not sorted beyond who had provided them to her, and if you did not know the witch's specialties and...inclinations, it was really a bit of a massive infodump.

Sometimes she wondered if there had been a bit of a mix-up at the crèche despite the fact that it'd been such a very long time since the witches had accepted a boy, and _everybody_ remembered what happened _then_...

As she made a note – S092-AM0-F04 had _again_ gotten flagged, strangely without her usual extra 'protection' flag, and with a new male (S034-ESE-M02) as well – she once again reminded herself that she couldn't switch places with Ox.

After all, they barely were able to sneak off to make out; Psyche was quite lax about the 'no consorting with begrudging ally' rules, thankfully.

Only a few more hours until her shift was over, and she could sneak off with Ox again...

* * *

There really does need to be more Ox/Kim shipping out there; I can pretty much promise at this point that this story isn't going to waver on this.

Anyway, please review; if I have around three or four reviews by Wednesday night, I'll go ahead and post an extra section this week as well as the usual weekend one.

**Next Section:** Medusa is getting _very_ tired of these assassination attempts.

(After that section: extra-long one centering on Kid.)


	7. Section 7 Shards of Glass

Lovely, only one review for the last installment... I feel so appreciated. Well, please enjoy this; I'll see how much interest I can scrounge up for getting the next chapter written.

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls  
By Ryo Hoshi**

_§7 Shards of Glass_

It took a little for Medusa to process exactly _what_ had just happened: a strange, reverberating boom that shook the air, something (things?) warm pushing her down and covering her...

..._ah_. Another bomb; 'strange' how they seemed so prone to going off in her domain. Someday she really _would_ betray at least one of her sisters to the technicians. If she could ever determine for certain _which_ one of the was so fond of encouraging the various terrorist factions to make these assassination attempts. At least she could be secure in the knowledge that Arachne and Kallisto would never get along well enough to gang up on their youngest sister...

But first things first. She needed to make sure her boys were alright. From the weight, she knew that both of them were on top of her...and from the faint smell of blood she suspected that at least one of them was injured. "...Frank? Spirit?"

Spirit responded immediately. "I'm alright, but...Medusa..."

Oh. Medusa wriggled, rolling over. She could immediately tell that this bomb had been off to the side, the side the younger of her lovers had been on. Willing her fingers not to shake – Spirit was endearingly prone to worrying for those close to him – she reached up and carefully inspected the wounds left by shrapnel. "He's still breathing, Spirit," she said first, having hoped that when she saw how slowly the blood was flowing. "None of it got through his skull," she added as further reassurance, "he's just unconscious." And oh, he was going to have even more scars after this, though none as nasty as the one from when he'd been barely able to get out of the way of a strike intended to blind...

All her fault, again. He'd...not exactly _betrayed_ the technicians, because their leaders were always talking about how they were allies, but... Well, what _Mabaa_ said for consumption by the general public via the screens never matched up that well with what she said during the sabbats.

From the attacks that sometimes happened to him, from 'unidentifiable' technicians and their close allies, the Ísengelóman, it'd become painfully clear that his own people considered him a traitor for having chosen to _openly_ be with a witch. It didn't help in the least that Spirit's own faction within the politics of Castel apparently insisted on believing that Spirit had only defected because he was following Stein.

So, of course, they went after the technician instead of Spirit. Well, the technician _and_ the witch, but given that her boys were so protective of her...

Medusa focused on taking care of Stein – she had not quite expected to get this sort of use from the medical training she'd had to have to get promoted. Spirit had been on the lee side, and clearly was safe beyond some scratches.

At least, she thought as much until she heard the strange noise Spirit made, and looked up.

...She'd known that the woman Spirit had fallen in love with within the Lotos was still alive and still inside the machine, somewhere.

Well, actually, past-tense applied _now_. A rather large shard of glass embedded in her chest and a large amount of blood made it quite clear she almost certainly was _not_ alive.

Medusa was really not amused by this at all.

* * *

Yes, yes, I know the last couple sections were short. I'm still rather irked by the lack of reviews; I do happen to have a life outside of this, people, _and_ stories I could give more time to. Do I _need_ to rant every other section about this?

That said, **next time:** Kid gets picked up by a pair of bicurious lesbian sisters & the rating gets justified again.


	8. Section 8 Meet Mr Black

Okay, as promised: Kid gets section 8. I'm sure he's quite happy about this. I've given a friend -- Heart of Perpetual Ice here, Nancy Hartigan on LJ -- permission to work on a side-story about Kid, from the perspective of one of his executive assistant/secretary, which probably will be posted here, soon. (You might know her from _A Soul's Songbook_

.)

* * *

_**Shadows on the Walls**_  
**By Ryo Hoshi**

_§8 Meet Mr. Black_

Kid checked his appearance in the cafe's window, straightening the front of his suit's jacket to make sure it was _just_ right before going in. He rather liked the work his tailor had done: the crisp, black suit fit him perfectly, the lines smoothly classical and unmistakably those of a suit made by experts for its wearer. His white shirt showed no signs of dirt, and the matte black tie – held in place with a custom-made sterling silver tie pin in the shape of a stylized skull, with three onyxes – was impeccably tied and straight.

He was not _vain_, of course. Kid did not take pride in his appearance, it merely was that he made a point of dressing neatly. Since his father couldn't leave their...headquarters in Las Vegas, Kid was the public face of all facets of his father's business – both the ill-defined aspects which were public knowledge and the rather specialized true one.

Right now, though, he was merely trying to occupy himself for an afternoon in Portland. It wasn't like Portland was a _small_ town or anything, but... Maine was _not_ high on the list of places Kid wanted to be, and since he'd been there for the more _specialized_ side of his father's business, he couldn't simply have shifted the job onto somebody who might enjoy having to spend a few days there.

Kid loved large cities and metropolitan areas – BosWash, Tokyo, Paris, London...anywhere where the population was in the millions. It made it so much _easier_ to avoid ending up just sitting somewhere, reading whatever book one of the 'Executive Assistants' had oh-so-helpfully stuck into his briefcase 'just in case' he needed reading. (And, alright, several were _quite_ good for combining various other tasks in, such as a visit to a tailor...)

Kid was unsure how, exactly, to deal with his latest one coming out of the closet by lending him _gay porn_. It wasn't that the shinigami was bothered by it, but...he'd asked for them to assign him a _male_ one _because_ he was tired of ones who seemed determined to use the job to land their boss's son. Kid had very early on, when he'd become old enough to be given an official job, discovered that the aura of gold-digger/social-climber on those females (some were not even _old_ enough to be called _women_) was an automatic, instant turn-off.

It was a certain one, too; Kid had tested it during the worst of his teens, when sometimes his body would act up at the worst possible time.

Still, he wasn't sure he'd not be at least a bit less _bored_ about spending the afternoon sitting in a cafe with a newspaper if he had _some_ sort of significant other. There would be _other_ ways to kill time, too – it wasn't like Kid was _a_sexual.

He'd long-since finished the randomly-chosen pastry he'd gotten and his large coffee was half-gone when somebody knocked gently on his table. "Excuse me, sir?"

Kid looked up, golden eyes catching a pair of sapphire blue ones. "Yes, miss?" He could sense surprise from her – and strangely not the one every person who'd not met his father first had to the color of his eyes.

Neither did the younger girl with her – Kid was quite sure they were sisters.

"May we join you...?"

The shinigami glanced around the small cafe, to confirm that there were, indeed, empty tables. He knew they didn't recognize him in his public persona, the same way he knew they'd not been surprised by the color of his eyes – but he _knew_ they recognized him from _somewhere_.

But...they weren't gold-diggers or social climbers, so he nodded.

The elder – wait, correction, _both_ – of them was hitting on him...for his own sake.

He smiled after they introduced themselves: Liz (elder) and Patti (younger) Thompson. "I'm Kidd Black; it's a pleasure to meet you both."

Liz laughed, smiling and sipping her iced coffee. "So, Mr. Black, what brings you here?"

Kid shrugged slightly, replying smoothly, "Business – I work for my Father. Maybe you've heard of his company...?" No, of course not; even if his father's _public_ business was less vaguely-defined – Black Holding was, well, _not_ a very descriptive name, and to top it off his father had always preferred keeping a low profile unlike the _other_ people who had the same sort of wealth.

The conversation stayed polite, each side sounding out the other's personality and interests, with Kid being confused by a few whispered comments between the sisters – _why_ would they have thought he was (_shudder_) missing an eye? – but otherwise quite pleased about it.

Drinks done, and it determined that both had the rest of the day free, they went out shopping. Kid ended up getting them each an elegant dress, after deciding that yes, he was going to take them out for dinner and they _needed_ something more suitable for where he wished to take them. Some jewelry was needed as well, though there Kid did set a limit on how much he'd spend on them – it helped that neither had pierced ears, so he got a simple topaz pendant for Patti and silver bangles for Liz and considered that quite sufficient to make them look suitably dressed.

Of course, a stop at a shoe store was wanted as well, though he drew the line at offering to cover the lingerie the pair decided they needed for the dresses to look perfect. Kid _knew_ the rules there: he paid for it, he got to see it in use.

Kid wasn't about to make them feel like they owed him getting to see them in their underwear – though, given that Patti _insisted_ he look and tell her if what she had picked out, a garter belt and lace panties, looked good... She hadn't even waited for him to _answer_. Probably his pants had been sufficient answer for her.

It was rather evident to him, now, what the younger sister's plans for him were, if she wasn't simply being a cocktease. He hoped she wasn't; Patti had looked _good_ in that...

They looked lovely once fully ready, though. He drove them to the restaurant, blushing a little when Liz stole a kiss while he held the car's door for the pair. It didn't help in the least that the combination of her dress, his height – gotten from his father – and the position meant that he knew _exactly_ what she was wearing _under_ it.

Alright, _both_ apparently had plans for the end of the evening.

The dinner went well, with flirting all round – himself with the sisters, the sisters with Kid _and_ each other – and it was somehow silently settled that they were all going to their hotel room for the night...and that they were _not_ teasing him.

* * *

Remember, reviews make me happy and encourage me to spend more time working on this story instead of others! And no, the others would not involve pr0n.

**Next Time:** Maka again, enjoying her upgrade in job to 'kept woman'...and Soul's got two loves in his life, Maka and Booze.


	9. Section9Tonight's the Night for Drinking

Sorry about the late posting -- I've spent a lot of time asleep, recovering from my final, and had unfortunately not been able to get it finished any sooner. Please do remember to review!

* * *

**Shadows on the Walls  
By Ryo Hoshi**

_§9 Tonight's the Night for Drinking_

Maka watched Soul in...well, awe or amazement would not be the right word for it. During the month since she'd managed to get promoted to 'kept woman,' she'd gotten to see Soul drink. A lot. She was rather worried about his health...long-term _and_ short-term.

She'd hoped he'd spend the night sober. The hotel didn't have mini-bars in the room, and no bar on-site, so she'd thought he'd have to give up. No such luck, though; he'd managed to get by someplace where he could buy alcohol, before settling into the room with her.

The blond had kept good track of how much her patron drank; she did not want him dying on her. Not, at least, until she'd managed to teach herself enough to get something a bit better as jobs went. That, in Maka's mind, meant she _had_ to get better at reading, and comfortable with writing, and _that_ was being slow going.

Normally, a bottle of good whiskey would last the guitarist all night. Sometimes he even had a finger or two left in the bottle when they went to sleep.

Tonight? Soul had started on his _second_ bottle.

Maka watched him pour himself another glass – he wasn't drinking straight from the bottle, but his hand was shaking. Noticing her gaze, he forced his hand to steady and offered her some.

She accepted – at least it'd be one less glass _he_ drank.

After a little small talk, she finally gathered the courage to ask why he was drinking so much more than usual.

It was an anniversary.

To be more precise, it was the anniversary of his parents' death.

The story spilled out of Soul.

His parents and he had taken his elder brother, Wes, to the airport. Wes, a violinist, had gotten into a prestigious music school, and was moving away. Maka could tell, from what little Soul said, that he was in awe of his elder brother.

On the way home – before sunrise, because Wes apparently had either not wanted or not be able to pick a later flight – somebody had run straight into the side of their car, on the driver's side, both going over the side of the road. Soul was sparing on the details of the next part, possibly not remembering exactly what had happened between the collision and the car coming to a stop at the bottom of the ditch beside the row, upside-down with the other vehicle atop them, trapped.

His father had been...not awake.

His mother, though, was awake, and had talked to him, reassuring her son, so _certain_ that they'd all be alright, that rescue would come soon...

She'd been wrong. Something – Soul wasn't sure _what_ exactly – caused a fire. Maybe, a gas tank had sprung a leak. Maybe...there was some chemicals in the other car.

Either way, by the time help _did_ arrive...there was a merrily-burning fire, and he didn't know if they hadn't heard the calls for help or...

By the time they cut him free, they had already put the fire out, and his parents...

The fire hadn't gotten to spread back to where Soul had been trapped. He'd gotten away with just some bruises, some smoke in his lungs...and a good bit of mental trauma. He was taken to the hospital, treated quickly for the first two, and told that it was really only temporary when dumped at the nearest orphanage – for the few months left until Wes turned 18.

Wes even managed to visit. Once. Just before they unexpectedly announced that Soul was to be transferred to another orphanage – "one closer to where your brother lives" – which turned out to be _just_ the opposite.

That was the end of contact with his family. They'd 'forgotten' to tell Wes where he'd been moved, just like they'd 'forgotten' to let him attend his parents' funeral, just like they'd 'forget' to let him try to keep track of his elder brother's location.

By the time Soul was tossed out the orphanage door, all he was able to find out was that his brother had left – for points unknown to the school – after he'd graduated. A talented violinist – even one from a family that had been producing as many music prodigies as the Evans family had – still was not going to be well-known outside of classical music circles...

He stopped.

The second bottle was empty, now.

Maka, who'd moved closer and closer to him since he'd started, nudged the bag with the remaining bottle_s_ farther under the coffee table and even more out of sight as she snuggled against him.

It ended up being surprisingly easy to convince Soul – drunker than she'd ever seen him manage to be before – to bed. She didn't think he was going to be up to sex, but a little drunken cuddling might get him into a better mood...

Their clothes were all on the floor when Soul murmured, softly, "I love you."

She didn't know what to say.

* * *

Another chapter down, still more to go. Please, do review! I'm happy to just hear that you're reading!

**Next Chapter:** Ox and Kim talk to each other, and plot happens!


End file.
